


A Regrettable Incident

by Moonlight_Shining



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Canon Compliant, Christmas Special, Christmas Tree, F/F, Gen, Kink Meme, Male-Female Friendship, Psychotropic Drugs, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-07 02:19:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5439800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlight_Shining/pseuds/Moonlight_Shining
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written as a fill for an old Downton Abbey kink meme prompt:<br/>“Dr. Clarkson is careless about his new "medicinal, soothing cigarettes" (if you can believe that fine physician would do something as silly as that, after all he is SUCH a good professional) and Miss O'Brien ends up taking one by mistake next time he visits.<br/>Cue Accidentally High O'Brien doing stupid stuff downstairs and upstairs. Bonus for Daisy and Thomas trying to sneak her quietly back to her room, but her escaping several times. Extra bonus for understanding Cora. O'Brien/Cora is optional.”<br/>POV characters: Thomas, as well as Cora, Daisy, Anna and Isobel.<br/>Can be seen as a season 1 Christmas Special of sorts!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nothing Serious

_December 1913_

**Prologue**

“I can’t believe a professional like Dr Clarkson would do something as careless as that… after all, he is such a good doctor,” Isobel sighed, shaking her head dismally.

“Well, he obviously did.”

Isobel looked away from the creamy blanket of snow that covered the gardens of the Dower House almost regretfully – it looked so peaceful out there – and focused her attention back on her troublesome companion. She watched as Violet took another sip of her tea. The rim of the porcelain cup didn’t quite manage to hide the small smirk that played at the corner of her lips, in stark contrast to her serious tone. Not that she was actually bothering to try to hide her glee anyway. She had been gloating at Isobel ever since she had arrived, to the point where the woman was starting to suspect this might very well be the real reason Violet had invited her for afternoon tea in the first place…

It would have come as a surprise to Isobel if someone had told her about a year ago, when she had only just met the Dowager Countess of Grantham, that the stern-looking old woman could have heard about such utter disorder and absurdity and revelled in it shamelessly. Meanwhile she had got to know the real Violet Crawley, and now Isobel could tell without a shadow of a doubt that _Cousin Violet_ was enjoying herself tremendously. If only because Dr Clarkson, who according to her had gone over to the enemy, abandoning her to become Isobel’s partner in crime, was being ridiculed.

Yes, Violet was having a good laugh at Isobel’s expense. And if her intuition was right, at the expense of her son and her daughter-in-law as well. To say nothing of poor O’Brien – if Isobel had ever thought she would one day come to feel sorry for the woman…

All in all, Violet Crawley was laughing in the face of the world. As was her habit, she was being positively infuriating. Yet Isobel would sooner walk around Downton Cottage Hospital naked than let her know just how much she got under her skin.

“Surely, you must have been a little shocked,” she insisted. “We all were.”

“Do you mean to speak of Dr Clarkson’s unfortunate negligence or the… most regrettable consequences for that poor O’Brien?” Violet asked.

She didn’t seem to think that there was anything even slightly regretful about the whole affair.

“Well…”

Isobel’s mouth remained slightly open as she hesitated, unwilling to go down that particular road with the dowager. She had no intention of letting Violet – who was currently staring at her with an arched eyebrow – trick her into revealing any embarrassing detail about Miss O’Brien.

 

**Chapter 1 – Nothing Serious**

“And don’t you go slacking off while I’m gone!”

Thomas made himself wait until Mrs Patmore had rounded the corner before hurtling into the kitchen at full speed, earning himself a curious stare from one of the scullery maids. He immediately countered with a menacing glare of his own. That silly wench had better keep her nose out of his business or else...

“Daisy, you have to come, quick,” he said to the young woman who was currently busy peeling a daunting heap of potatoes.

“What? Now? I’m busy,” she replied moodily, but her expression turned to one of surprise and mild worry when she looked up at him.

Thomas supposed he must have cut a truly dashing figure, out of breath as he was, with his usually impeccable hair in slight disarray and probably more than a stray crease on his livery. He could picture it clearly in his mind, and if Mr Carson spotted him he would probably receive the wigging of a lifetime... which was actually the least of his worries right now. He nervously tugged at the hem of his jacket.

“Did something happen?”

“No, no. Nothing serious. But I really need to talk to you. Now.”

Thomas ran nervous fingers through his hair, patting the top of his head in a desperate attempt at keeping up appearances.

“It’ll only take a second, please,” he lied urgently and gave Daisy the sweetest, most charming look he could muster. “She won’t even know you’re gone.”

For some reason that was well beyond him, it seemed to work and the incredulous maid dropped her knife on the table, looking at him expectantly.

“Where are we going?” she asked, but didn’t protest when he simply motioned for her to follow him.

Thomas hurriedly led her down the corridor and into the yard to the spot by the picnic table where he usually took his smoke breaks with Miss O’Brien. Where he happened to have taken a smoke break with her not so long ago… It was a good place to discuss private business, here in the open, where nobody could sneak up on them without being noticed.

“I really need your help, Daisy. I didn’t know who else to ask. You the only one I can trust...”

Thomas didn’t fake the desperation in his voice. Normally, he wouldn’t have dreamt of asking her for help. He knew perfectly well whom he would have turned to without a second thought. But he couldn’t seek her advice this time, not when she herself was at the heart of the problem. Daisy was his last chance – she was the only one he could hope to manipulate into helping him out of the gigantic mess he had created...

Thomas could tell that there was something wrong with her from the moment he saw her enter the servants’ hall. For starters, he had never ever seen Sarah O’Brien beam like that. She smirked, on a regular basis, and on rare occasions he had seen her crack some demure, genuine smiles. But that broad idiotic grin was completely unprecedented and it did not bode well. For all he knew, it might be that the sour woman had come up with an evil plan to do away with everyone at the Abbey all while evading his Majesty’s justice...

Thomas stared at her suspiciously as she pulled a chair and sat down in front of him, dropping a packet of cigarettes on the table before her. Her movements were a little clumsy and he couldn’t help but notice that she lacked her usual needlework.

“You come here to laze about, Miss O’Brien?” he called out affably as he reached out for the packet, pocketing it without thanking her. “I thought I might have left it lying somewhere... Hope you haven’t been helping yourself.”

She laughed at him. She actually _laughed_ at him. It was in that moment that he understood just how dire the situation was. He no longer felt like exchanging pleasantries.

“You alright?” he asked, genuinely concerned.

“I’m great actually! You?”

Her answer had done nothing to reassure him.

“Are you drunk?” Thomas asked bluntly.

The stupid smile vanished from her face and for a moment she looked almost like her normal self again, but when she spoke, there was an unmistakable slurry quality to her voice.

“How dare you? ’Course not.”

For a second, he was irresistibly reminded of Lady Grantham’s distinctive American drawl. It was like hearing an extremely poor impression of how her Ladyship would sound if she were completely smashed (and if she were somehow sporting a Northern English accent...)

Miss O’Brien crossed her arms defensively and he quickly stood up, went around the end of the table and approached her. It was truly miraculous that it was merely the two of them down in the hall at the time. She said nothing as Thomas leaned into her personal space, sniffing to try and detect alcohol and finding nothing but the usual smell of soap and a hint of tobacco. He also caught a whiff of something unexpected but strangely familiar – something aromatic – like herbs?

The corner of O’Brien’s mouth quirked into one of her trademark smirks.

“I’m quite flattered, if I may say. It’s an honour for me to bring a sinner back from his wicked ways.”

“Quiet, you wretched woman,” he hissed. “What if someone hears you?”

“Don’t worry. Dear Elsie’s not around to hear about your newfound interest in middle-aged women.”

“You’re revolting!”

“Hold your horses. She wouldn’t be interested anyway. And nor would I.”

Despite his annoyance, Thomas could immediately feel that this conversation might be heading a direction that would be both much safer for him and much more interesting...

“You wouldn’t now, would you?”

“No. I’d sooner dream about holding her till the end of my life than tie myself to one of you smelly, hairy brutes.”

As a male, Thomas supposed he should have been offended by the undisguised insults, but the truth was he could hardly care less about Sarah O’Brien’s opinion of men. Rather, he was shocked at her brutal honesty. He already suspected that she could be one of them, he wouldn’t deny it, but having her admit it without batting an eyelid... that was unexpected to say the least. Whatever may come, Thomas knew that he would never forget about this useful nugget of information. He was about to press home his advantage and prompt O’Brien into revealing the name of the unfortunate object of her affections, but she didn’t give him the time.

“I talk too much,” she complained, and Thomas certainly could not contradict her on that.

She was away with the fairies. Worse than that, she was a walking disaster, apparently blabbering about whatever popped into her head. It was at that very moment, with the faint aromatic scent wafting from her filling his nostrils, that Thomas finally made the connection. He had first been confronted to the smell during their last smoke break together less than an hour ago. Thomas reached for his packet of cigarettes with trembling hands. If that meant what he thought it actually meant, then they were in deep trouble... 


	2. In a Jam

Daisy was wringing her hands nervously, her wide eyes darting all around as though she was expecting Mrs Hughes to jump out from behind one of the nearby pile of wooden crates.

“Oh, what’d you do, Thomas? They’ll be furious if they know...”

She was shaking from head to toes and it was all Thomas could do not to yell at her to get a grip. _He_ was the one with the job on the line and yet it was Daisy who was panicking. Although it might be that she actually was cold after all... The weather had noticeably cooled down in the last few days and neither of them wore coats.

In a show of gallantry, Thomas slipped off his jacket and wrapped it around Daisy’s shoulders. It certainly wouldn’t hurt to butter her up a little... He took another deep breath, wondering if he had any chance at all to save himself with such a worthless accomplice.

“It was an accident, I swear... But you’re right, they’d be furious. And that’s why I need your help. They can’t know, you see or I’ll be sent to pack without a reference – and so will Miss O’Brien. That’s why you have to help me. Please, Daisy, please, I need you.”

Thomas looked her in the eyes imploringly, the very picture of helplessness. If he had ever thought that he would one day sink so low as to beg Daisy Robinson for a favour... It was really lucky that the girl happened to be such a foolish romantic with such a ridiculously big heart.

“Oh alright,” she surrendered. “Just please don’t cry or I don’t know what I’ll do...”

If anything Thomas felt like pulling his hair out.

“But what d’you want me to do? I don’t know anything about that sort of plants... Maybe we should tell them, have them call Dr Clarkson, have him examine her.”

“No, we can’t! I’ve just told you, Daisy. If we call Dr Clarkson, he’ll know what happened. And we can’t have that. Mr Carson only needs one tiny excuse to sack me.”

“But what if something happens to her? Where’s she now anyway?”

 

There was no point denying it – Sarah O’Brien was completely stoned, and it was all Thomas Barrow’s fault. The only bright side to the story was that, if the effects on O’Brien were anything to go by, it was Bates of all people who had ended up saving him from looking like the biggest fool in the whole of Yorkshire. But even that consolation paled in the face of what he now had to deal with.

“No. Not that way,” Thomas instructed in a hushed but firm voice, tightly gripping O’Brien’s upper arm to steer her in the right direction.

He wanted to lead her away from the basement before anyone found her, but the task was proving rather difficult due to her rather buyoant but stubborn lack of cooperation. She seemed determined to go anywhere but where he needed her to– up the servants’ staircase to her small room in the attic, where she would be out of sight and out of earshot of the others.

At first, Thomas had been naive enough as to walk ahead of her, but he had switched to more drastic measures when she had caught him off-guard and rushed past the stairs instead of following, nearly barging into the butler’s pantry and Mrs Hughes’s sitting room before he had narrowly stopped her.

Thomas half-dragged her up the stairs, as she hummed an annoyingly merry Christmas carol in a way that was bound to draw unwarranted attention sooner or later... He could feel cold sweat trickling down the back of his neck at the thought of how much he was risking. Finally, after slapping her eager hands away from the door to the gallery – God forbid she should run into one of the upstairs lot while in this state – Thomas led her up the very last flights of steps and into the attic.

They went the length of the men’s corridor and it was only once they stood before the tightly locked door to the women’s wing that he realized that this might very well be the one tiny detail that would ruin his plan. Thomas kicked the door hard enough to make it shake on its hinges, mentally calling Elsie Hughes all the names in the book while Miss O’Brien watched him with mild interest.

“Why? Can you tell me? _Why?_ She never locks it during the daytime. Never!”

“Well, she does now...”

He turned around at the unexpected answer, shooting her a dirty look.

“What?”

“She’s been doing it for a while now. I’ve heard her tell Mr Carson it might help keep naughty snuff boxes from wandering round the house so easy...”

She chuckled. Thomas put a hand to his forehead, fighting the sudden urge to wrap his fingers around O’Brien’s neck and squeeze. The nerve of her to tease him about something which had nearly ruined him, which would have ruined him if all-merciful Bates hadn’t wanted to show them once more just how saintly he was. He took a calming breath, picturing the moment when they had announced the search. O’Brien wasn’t looking so smug back then. Thomas would even go as far as to say that she had come as close to freaking out as Miss O’Brien ever did...

If only Thomas could have locked her up in his own room and kept her tucked away until she was back to normal, it would have done the trick... But none of the doors in the servants’ quarters had bolts... just in case they forgot that they had no right to privacy whatsoever, he supposed. Yet there was nowhere Thomas could hide an intoxicated lady’s maid but the servants’ quarters. He had to find a way to get her back to her room and make sure she stayed in there no matter what...

Thomas opened the door to his room and shoved the uncharacteristically jolly O’Brien in. He made his best attempt at being paternal, gripping her shoulder and motioning to her to sit on the chair next to his bed.

“Stay there and wait for me. Do not move. I’ll be back in a minute.”

 

“All we have to do is keep her safe up there for a few hours and she’ll be fine,” Thomas explained, his breath misting in the freezing air. “And that’s where _you_ come in. Old Hughsie’s gone and locked the door to the virgin aisle, and I can’t very well go ask her for the key myself.”

“But she’s bound to ask me why I need it!”

“That only means you’ll have to actually need it.”

 

Minutes later, kitchen maid Daisy Robinson clumsily spilt a jar of raspberry jam all over herself, leaving her with no choice but to take off her stained dress as soon as possible and give it away to the laundry maids. It was her only hope of saving it and since clothes were so expansive, Elsie Hughes handed her the key without hesitation – but not without a cutting remark. Daisy quickly made her way up to the servants’ quarters, thinking about the smile on Thomas’s face when he learnt that she had saved him. But the corridor was empty. And so was his room...


	3. Good Girl

Thomas and Daisy parted ways at the entrance to the kitchen as she left him to carry out their plan and he went to check on Miss O’Brien. He didn’t like the idea of leaving her alone for too long when she was in that state, and in his room of all places. If he knew her at all, no doubt she had already used the opportunity to snoop around his things, Thomas thought petulantly. He walked into the men’s aisle and came to a halt in front of his room... The door was wide open.

“Fucking Christ, she’s gone!”

Thomas let out a torrent of curses that would have made Daisy turn beet-red. He could hardly believe it. He had been gone for no longer than five minutes at the very most and that insufferable demon of a woman had already taken to her heels.

O’Brien couldn’t possibly have headed back down. She would have either run into him and Daisy or into some unsuspecting servant, causing a ruckus that would have alerted everyone immediately. That left her with only one way to go, and it led straight to disaster. Thomas hadn’t missed the glint in her eyes when she had reached for the door to the gallery earlier.

It was mid-afternoon and it was customary for the family to be attending to their business elsewhere. The bedrooms should be empty, so maybe he would still make it in time...

Thomas tried to keep on a dignified façade as he walked through the first-floor corridors, straining his ears for any noise that might give away her presence. There was no way Miss O’Brien could have wandered that far off. Not with her unsteady gait.

Where could she have gone? he wondered as he paused in front of yet another door. The answer struck him like a bolt of lightning and it was all he could do not to break into a run.

A few seconds later, he stopped to listen at the door of Lady Grantham’s room and gave a nervous start. He could hear the faint sound of female voices drifting through the wood...

Thomas should have known. He was too late and now Lady G was probably in the middle of scolding O’Brien for her debauchery while preparing to ring for Carson – of course, not before she had given her lady’s maid enough time to pull him down with her in her fall from grace. Well, they were screwed anyway, so... Thomas took a deep breath and turned the handle.

 

Anna bent over the bed to pat the pillowcase, making sure to smooth any remaining wrinkles. With her task done, she straightened up and turned around... and let out a yelp of surprise. She raised a hand to her wildly beating heart, glowering at the intruder who had somehow managed to creep up on her unnoticed and come to stand much too close for comfort. Anna had had a queer feeling that she was being watched while she put the finishing touches to her Ladyship’s bed and now she would have bet her month’s wages that Miss O’Brien had been peeking over her shoulder just a second ago.

“You startled me,” Anna said reproachfully.

She took a step back and placed a hand on one of the bedpost to steady herself for a second.

“Is there anything I can I do for you?” Anna asked, a bit surprised that the other woman still hadn’t come to the point.

It was unexpected for O’Brien to waste time standing about like that when she usually was so efficient and bone-jarringly direct. The situation only seemed to get more bizarre as she slumped unceremoniously onto the bed Anna had just finished making.

“What are you doing? We’re not allowed to sit in here.”

“I thought you might be slacking off when no one’s looking, but seems like you’re just as hard-working as you look... Good girl.”  

“Well, now thanks to you, I’ll have to start all over again...”

Anna gave an exasperated sigh before the full absurdity of the situation finally registered with her and she stopped dead in her tracks, frowning in confusion. She had naturally assumed that O’Brien was being sarcastic, but now that she thought about it, there was something definitely incongruous about her choice of words – just a touch too familiar – not to mention the way they were spoken, without the slightest hint of malice.

For the first time, Anna took a good look at the other woman – there was Miss O’Brien, her Ladyship’s notoriously proud and stuck-up maid, making herself at home on her mistress’s grand four-poster bed while paying Anna compliments in non-ambiguous terms.

Suddenly, it was all clear in her head. O’Brien’s behaviour had been completely out of place from the very beginning, what with her breathing down Anna’s neck in a much too literal manner.

“Sorry. It just looked really snug. My head’s spinning.”

There could be no doubt about it.

“Have you been drinking?”

“Don’t you start,” O’Brien answered.

She looked vaguely bored.

“You can sniff me if you like. Thomas did.”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll pass. If there was no encounter with a stolen wine bottle, then what’s happened to you?”

“I don’t know.”

Anna crossed her arms over her chest, looking at O’Brien expectantly, but the other woman simply ignored her, dropping backwards to lie more fully on the mattress.

“Oh no, that’s definitely not a good idea. You can’t fall asleep here. What if her Ladyship finds you?”

“I’m not sleeping. Like I said, it looks really snug... And I’ve always thought about how wonderful it must feel to lie on one of those. And I was right – it is wonderful. You should give it a go.”

“I don’t really fancy lying on my employer’s bed next to a drunken woman.”

O’Brien’s legs were still hanging off the side of the bed and Anna briefly entertained the uncharitable yet appealing notion of pulling on her ankles and having her crumple into a heap on the floor.

“I’ve already told you I’m not drunk. Are you going to tell me you’ve never wished you could try it out?”

“Who hasn’t?”

“Well, what are you waiting for then?”

“It wouldn’t be reasonable for us to stay up here any longer, Miss O’Brien. I think you should go back downstairs with me. And what’s more, you really shouldn’t be doing this. It is forbidden.”

“And that’s probably the reason why it feels so good...” O’Brien sighed blissfully.

Anna could feel her resolve crumble. After all, she knew perfectly well that the countess would not be back for another hour at least. And what harm could it possibly do to indulge in a little bit of dreaming for once? They were nearing Christmas after all... Who knew, it might even get O’Brien to be more cooperative.

“Alright, but just a minute...”

Anna smiled and climbed onto the bed, settling near the other maid. She felt the brief press of the other woman’s fingers on her upper arm before she spoke.

“You know, I don’t even hate you that much...”

Well, wasn’t that just lucky? Anna rolled her eyes, wondering what life at Downton would be like if Miss O’Brien _did_ hate her. She was about to quip back when the door opened. In a blink, she was up on her feet, readjusting her white cap and getting ready to face Lady Grantham’s legitimate wrath.

“I can explain everything.”

But it wasn’t the countess who had just come into the room.

 

The sight that greeted Thomas upon entering her Ladyship’s bedroom wasn’t at all what he had been expecting. He had guessed correctly when he had thought O’Brien must be there, but she wasn’t with the Countess of Grantham and she wasn’t being chastised at all. He glimpsed a blur of black and white as Anna sprang off the bed on which she had visibly been lying, apologetic words already tumbling out of her mouth.

There was a brief silence, during which his eyes travelled from one woman to another – Miss O’Brien still resting peacefully on her Ladyship’s bed as if it were where she belonged and Anna standing before him, looking as though she had been caught red-handed. Which he supposed she had.

“Thank God it’s you.”

The young woman sighed in relief upon recognizing him. She must have dreaded the worst. Thomas watched as she tugged on her apron nervously.

“Yes... I’ve been looking for her all over the place...”

Anna waved in O’Brien’s general direction.

“What’s going on, Thomas? What’s wrong with her?”

He sighed. While he was genuinely reassured that it had been Anna who had found her in the end, there was no guarantee that she wasn’t going to snitch to Mrs Hughes the moment they were back downstairs. Still, what could Thomas do? He had no choice but to confess to Anna Smith his own brand of truth and hope that her kindness would stretch as far as to save the two people who had already caused her beloved Bates so much trouble...


	4. The Best Present

A lone, empty tea cup sat on the long wooden table in the momentarily empty servants’ hall, still smoking faintly... The rest of the staff had already gone back to work after Dr Clarkson had left and no kitchen maid had come to clear the table yet.

Thomas Barrow was battling temptation, and fast losing ground.

After all, there was something irresistible to the cigarettes that lay discarded on the floor under the doctor’s chair. First, there were a great many of them, which meant that their owner would probably not even notice if one of them went missing, or a few more... Second, they were enclosed in a beautiful case, leather with gilded initials at the front, something which only served to remind Thomas that they were much better quality than his usual fags. And third, they were unidentified. The only way to know just how good they were was to smoke one. And Thomas loved experiments.

He offered one to Miss O’Brien during their smoke break after lunch, telling her to think of it as an early Christmas present. She was vaguely amused by the notion that Thomas had nicked yet something else, this time from Dr Clarkson of all people.

She was taking her first puff and Thomas was about to light one for himself when Bates arrived with a message from Carson that he was to go up immediately to help setting up Downton’s obligatory Christmas tree, a monster that was probably twice as big as Thomas’s childhood home. He put the fag away in his pocket and followed after Bates, leaving O’Brien sitting alone in the yard... and his pack of cigarettes lying on the table next to her.

 

“So you’re basically telling me that you had her smoke some strange... stuff you stole from Dr Clarkson and now she’s out of control?”

“I guess that’s what I’m saying,” Thomas said, unsure of whether he felt sheepish or simply annoyed at Anna’s condescending tone.

They had finally succeeded in getting O’Brien into her room – Daisy had panicked when she had found herself alone and returned the key to the housekeeper right after she had changed, but Anna had reluctantly accepted to go borrow it from Mrs Hughes herself. There was a second key for emergency purposes, Anna had explained, one which hung permanently on a hook next to the connecting door on the women’s side. Once the door was opened, the rest had been a child’s play. They had locked O’Brien up and given back the key to Mrs Hughes, but not before Thomas had slipped the spare one in his pocket.

Downton’s first footman and head housemaid were now standing together in the middle of the servants’ staircase, conferring in hushed voices. Thomas had just finished filling Anna in on the details.

“Please don’t report me – us. This whole thing doesn’t make any sense. I know that what I did was wrong, but it was just two fags... And Miss O’Brien wasn’t even there when I took them.”

There was no need for Anna to know that he had actually taken four, three of which had been smoked by O’Brien... Anna’s eyes narrowed briefly and Thomas could tell that she was seeing right though his fake repentance. It would be no use trying to justify himself to her.

“Alright, I won’t say a word,” she sighed. “Though I’m not really sure why...”

 

For the second time that afternoon, Thomas found himself smuggling Daisy out of the kitchen behind Mrs Patmore’s back. As Thomas led her down the corridor, she opened her mouth resolutely, but he promptly shushed her before she had any time to protest.

“ _I’m trying to_ _help_ ,” he explained in a low voice. “We’re going up. I’ll explain it all there.”

Thomas prayed that they did not run into Mr Carson or Mrs Hughes on their way to the servants’ quarters. The last thing he needed on top of all his troubles was to be suspected of fooling around with kitchen maids.

“I don’t want to get into any trouble,” the girl whined as they stood on the landing to the attic a few seconds later.

It was something of a miracle that she had agreed to follow him at all. She had almost dropped the giant pot she was holding upon seeing Thomas sneak into the kitchen again, and even now was still looking at him as though he were the devil come to drag her to hell.

“You won’t. That is, if you do as I say. Now, listen. The thing is, we can’t leave Miss O’Brien alone. Not when she’s like this...”

“But-”

“I wanted to lock her up on the women’s side and have it done with, but Anna thought it might be risky. And she was right. It took O’Brien all of three minutes to get into her and Gwen’s room and make a complete mess of things there. Now, if she goes and does the same to Mrs Hughes’s, the two of you are done for.”

Daisy stared at him with a mixture of fear and disbelief and he knew it was time to really drive his point home.

“Yes, Daisy, you too. You’ve been up here earlier, haven’t you? You and Anna are the only ones who’ve asked Hughsie for the key and she won’t have forgotten, you can bet on that.”

“But what can we do?”

“Anna’s with her right now, but she can’t stay here any longer. They’re bound to notice she’s not coming back. There’s no way around it, Daisy – you have to watch her.”

Daisy shook her head frantically.

“Oh no, I can’t. They need me in the kitchen... I can’t just go away like that.”

“Well, they’ll have to manage without you. Just tell them you’re feeling really really bad and then you’ll be able to go and keep an eye on her.”

“Can’t _you_ do it?”

“I can’t stay in the women’s quarters! I’ll be dead if they find me here!”

“The thing is... I don’t really want to stay alone with her. What if she gets angry and yells at me?”

“Bloody hell, Daisy!” Thomas snapped before getting a hold of himself.

He simply could not afford to lose his temper if he was to avoid scaring her to death, but it was certainly tempting.

“It’s not much, really,” he coaxed. “Just you stay here for a while and keep her company. She’s quite a bit of fun in this state actually. Much friendlier than usual... and chatty. And when this is all over and we’re off the hook, I’ll take you to dinner on your next day off. What d’you say? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Asking Daisy on a date was the last ace up his sleeve. If it didn’t work, then Thomas didn’t know what would. When she finally caved in, he let out an umpteenth sigh of relief.

 

“Her Ladyship’s ringing,” Mrs Hughes announced loud and clear, her eagle eyes already scanning her surroundings for any sign of Miss O’Brien. She turned to Anna, who sat at the servants’ table, sewing up a button on one of Lady Mary’s coats with slightly stiff gestures.

“Where is Miss O’Brien?”

Thomas caught the flash of distress in the maid’s eyes as she understood the full implications of the situation. She put her needlework down and looked up at Mrs Hughes. Her mouth opened but no words came out. Through the haze of his own panic, Thomas could practically hear the sound of the wheels turning frantically in her head as she struggled to come up with an appropriate answer.

“I’ve just run into her upstairs, Mrs Hughes,” Thomas piped in without thinking.

He didn’t have the slightest idea of what to say next. He just knew that he had to say something, anything. They were walking a tight rope and if they slackened, the housekeeper would sniff out their secret like a police dog. That woman was much too astute for anyone’s good.

Mrs Hughes turned to him with a raised eyebrow, but before she had the time to speak, Anna was already making her move.

“That’s right. I nearly forgot. Miss O’Brien’s already with her Ladyship... She told me at luncheon that her Ladyship wanted to go through her wardrobe before Christmas and she’d probably need my help to carry some of her old things away. That must be it. I’d better go up now.”

Thomas caught up with Anna at the top of the stairs.

“What are you going to tell her Ladyship?” he asked.

“Why... that Miss O’Brien isn’t well and that she must get some rest.” She gave a weary smile. “It’s not so far from the truth now, is it?”


	5. Cats are Better than People

The last hour had been among the most uncomfortable in Daisy’s time at Downton. She had spent the first ten minutes of her watch standing by the door stiff as a soldier, blocking Miss O’Brien’s only means of escape, before she had thought of placing the chair that was near her bed in front of it. Daisy was sitting now, but she was still tense as a bowstring, partly from fear and partly from the cold that penetrated the poorly-insulated room, piercing through her clothes.

She had greeted Miss O’Brien upon entering, but the other woman had given no answer and wouldn’t even acknowledge her presence, making Daisy seriously question Thomas’s idea of friendliness. To her it looked like Miss O’Brien was sulking like a small child, although she really didn’t mind the silence as soon as it meant that she wasn’t casting barbs at Daisy, which made for a nice change.

After a while, O’Brien had got up from her bed and gone over to the window, where she had stared out at the snow that had begun falling and blowing past the panes during long minutes. Daisy couldn’t even begin to imagine what manner of sinister thoughts must have been running through her head...

Then she had grown restless and begun pacing up and down, up and down, up and down right under Daisy’s nose. And that was all she had been doing for what felt like an eternity. The poor girl wondered when the woman would eventually tire of it and settle down. The incessant back and forth was making her dizzy, but she didn’t dare take her eyes off O’Brien lest she use her moment of inattention to get up to something horrible. What if she threw herself from the window? What if she set the room on fire with the box of matches Daisy had spotted on top of her chest of drawers earlier? What if she clubbed her over the head with that heavy candlestick?

“Are you sure you don’t want to sit down?” Daisy asked in a pleading voice.

It had taken all her courage to speak to her again and she practically cowered when the icy eyes landed on her for the first time. Then there was a soft scratching on the door behind Daisy and Miss O’Brien tore her gaze away from her to look at it.

“Thomas, is that you?” Daisy asked, her heart bursting with hope.

Anna had told her either she or he would come to check on her and O’Brien at some point, and with the connecting door no longer an obstacle, Daisy had hoped it would be him. But no human voice answered.

Instead there was a meowing sound followed by insistent scraping at the wood of the door. Daisy stood up and moved her chair aside before cracking open the door.

His Lordship's dog was the only house pet in the family, but there were a few cats downstairs. They slept in the stables and were fed scraps from the kitchen... And although they weren’t allowed inside, they regularly managed to sneak in and tried to steal food while the servants weren’t looking.

Daisy had meant to shoo the intruder away, but she never got the chance since O’Brien, who had crossed the room with surprising velocity, was already brushing her aside.

For a mad second, Daisy thought she was about to run out on her, but she merely opened the door all the way and stepped back. A black cat strode in, holding her tail proudly into the air. Chirping contentedly, she jumped onto O’Brien’s bed, circled around once and curled into a ball. Miss O’Brien sat down next to her and reached out a hand to rub at a spot under her ear, smiling as she leaned her head into her palm while purring loudly. There was a softness to the woman’s face that Daisy had never seen before, and she couldn’t decide whether she found the scene touching or merely frightening...

The cat looked up, as if she were hesitating, then she got up and stretched her long, lithe body before lazily walking up to the lady’s maid and settling down into her lap. Daisy couldn’t help but notice how sleek and shiny her fur was. The downstairs cats usually did well enough, but this one looked like she was better fed than the rest of them... Could be it that someone had been taking good care of her?

Somehow, the realisation that Miss O’Brien could actually be nice to somebody – or to some living being at the very least – made Daisy bolder.

“You like cats, Miss O’Brien?” she asked.

She was more of a dog person herself.

“’Course I do. What’s not to like? They’re clever and graceful. They always smell good, they’re really soft to the touch... and they have beautiful eyes.”

She sounded like something out of a poetry book, Daisy thought, albeit one that she would still understand.

“You make it sound as if cats were better than people,” she answered. “But cats can be really cruel. They kill little birds, and even with us... they’re selfish. They always come to you when you’re busy with something and they just won’t leave you alone. It’s like they must always be at the centre of everything. But when it’s you who’d like a cuddle, they’d sooner rip you with their claws. It’s like they think they’re so much better than us and we should always be at their beck and call.”

“That’s right... Well, at least they know how to clean and dress themselves. I still like them better.”

 

It was another hour before Thomas finally managed to get away. Right after William had relieved him from door duty, he slipped into the servants’ staircase through the hidden entrance on the ground floor. He was on his way up to see how Daisy was faring when he nearly bumped into her in the middle of the stairs. The girl stumbled back a few steps, looking more terrified than she ever had today.

“What is going on?” he asked through clenched teeth, already suspecting that he was not going to like the answer one bit.

“It’s Miss O’Brien...” she stuttered.

“Yes. What, Miss O’Brien?”

“She’s gone!”

As it turned out, it was much worse than what Thomas had been imagining.

“No,” he said. “No, it can’t be. No. For the love of God, not again!” he nearly screamed.

For a second, Thomas thought he was going to slap Daisy, or himself, or both. He didn’t even care to know how O’Brien could have managed to escape when the two of them had been shut away in the women’s aisle with the only key in Daisy’s possession.

“I think I dozed off and...”

“Shut up. Don’t say another word or God help me I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Daisy was shaking her head at him, rolling her eyes in distress.

“Now,” he resumed once he had regained some of his composure. “I suppose you’ve been looking for her...”

“Yes! She’s nowhere downstairs... but Mrs Patmore saw me and...”

She trailed off as he shot her a warning glance.

“Unless she’s decided on having a lovely stroll in the snow, that means she’s gone upstairs again, which means, in case you didn’t get it, that we’re screwed. Both of us.”

Thomas’s rage had somehow vanished as he spoke and he now felt a great weariness come over him. He sat on the steps below the young woman and buried his face into his hands.

“I’m sorry I’ve ruined it all,” he heard Daisy say in a small voice, then felt a hesitating hand on his shoulder. “But maybe it’s not too late after all.”

“What can I do now? Someone’s bound to have seen her, and right now that goose couldn’t behave if her life depended on it...”

“Well, that’s the thing... Maybe they didn’t. Maybe they’re all busy somewhere else. The point is, you shouldn’t give up before you try, not when there’s still hope.”

He looked up at her, taking in the way her eyes shone determinedly.

“I can’t go there myself, but you should go, Thomas. Go. You’ve nothing to lose.”

 

Thomas liked Pharaoh. He would even go as far as to say that the Crawleys’ dog was his favourite family member. Well, the youngest daughter didn’t look that bad either, but he didn’t know her well enough to tell for sure – For all her unusual kindness, Lady Sybil wasn’t nearly as approachable as Pharaoh... Yes, Thomas really liked Pharaoh, but right now he would have liked nothing more than to turn him into a carpet.

Daisy was right after all. He had found O’Brien right before anyone else had, or to be more precise, right before Pharaoh had. She was kneeling at the other end of the gallery and was reaching out toward a cat that stood a few feet away, looking at her attentively.

“Come on,” she was saying softly. “You can’t stay there. You know you’re not allowed in the house. I know that idiot William startled you, but you have to come here.”

It was the most sensible thing that Thomas had seen her do in a while. Unfortunately, he had other priorities. Nothing serious would happen to them if the cat was found here. It would simply earn William and whoever was involved a good scolding from Carson, and no lasting harm would be done – that was of course, if the cat didn’t run into his Lordship’s dog first...

Just as the thought crossed his mind, something big and hard shoved him from behind and he fell over, landing flat on his stomach. He raised his head, just in time to see Pharaoh charging down the gallery at full speed, the thumping of his paws muffled by the thick carpet. The cat had already scurried away, but O’Brien was still there, standing right in the middle of the dog’s path.

“Pharaoh. Stop.”

Thomas watched in complete astonishment as Pharaoh came to a sudden halt before her. Even under the influence of unknown substances, Sarah O’Brien still had the power to instil fear in lesser creatures. Pharaoh gave a pitiful whine, then turned around and came running back toward Thomas, his tail wagging.

“Miss O’Brien! Wait!” he pleaded as the dog enthusiastically lapped at his face and ears.

Yes, deep down Thomas still liked Pharaoh, but he would like him a lot more if he would just get out of his face. Literally.

Naturally, in the short time it had taken for him to push the dog away and get to his feet, O’Brien had vanished out of sight. Or maybe not after all, he thought as he looked down at the great hall below...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor edit: As of 1913, Robert's dog wasn't Isis but Pharaoh, who has never been identified by name on the show!


	6. The Goose is Cooked

It was an unusual sight that greeted Isobel as she came out of the library, having just taken her leave from Robert and Cora and intending on having a quick word with poor Mary before she left... Indeed, there was Cousin Cora’s austere maid – O’Brien if she remembered correctly – standing by the great Christmas tree in the hall. Upon closer inspection, Isobel could see that she was actually stroking a nervous pet, a black cat which was perched among the branches with her small ears flattened on the top of her head. Most likely the cat belonged to the countess, Isobel thought, and the maid must be trying to calm her down before taking her back to where she belonged...  

Isobel was about to go her own way when a footman came running down the grand staircase, startling her slightly. Wasn’t there some nonsensical rule forbidding servants from using it?

“Stay there!” the footman exclaimed and, without sparing Isobel a single look, he rushed toward the lady’s maid.

It all happened in a heartbeat – as the young man drew a bit too close, the frightened cat bristled and, hissing like a boiling kettle, sprang into the air, scratching O’Brien in the process. The footman never had a chance to avoid the animal as it dove through his legs like a bolt of lightning, dashing past Isobel and disappearing. His arms flayed about as he stumbled forward and in that unfortunate moment his fingers closed on the cable the men had to set up to anchor Downton Abbey’s ridiculously oversize Christmas tree.

For a split second, it looked like it would all be alright as the man unexpectedly managed to regain his balance. Then the knot that fastened the rope to the nearest pillar came undone and he fell flat on his face, yanking the cable down with him. The tree started to sway like a ship on a stormy sea...

“Watch out!” Isobel yelled and lurched toward the two servants.

They both looked up at the same time and the footman gasped before he began scrambling away as fast as he could, grabbing the hem of O’Brien’s dress to drag her away with him.

“Just get up,” Isobel snapped as she came up to them. “You...”

Then they were all engulfed in a sea of green.

 

Cora was about to come out of the library with Robert when she heard a scream. They stepped out into the hall just in time to see their giant Christmas tree, his Lordship’s pride and joy, topple over, squashing a visiting cousin and two of their servants... or in any case that was what it looked like to Cora at first glance. She gasped in horror.

There was a deadly calm as Lord and Lady Grantham tried to get a grip on themselves, then the top of the tree seemingly began to wiggle as Thomas painfully extracted himself from the heap of branches.

“Do you mind, O’Brien?” came a familiar female voice, muffled but thick with annoyance. “I can’t breathe with you lying across my rib cage.”

Cora rushed to the side of the poor victims as they rolled out from underneath the tree, first O’Brien then Cousin Isobel, looking more irritated than frightened. Both she and Thomas were already sitting up, but Cora noticed that her maid was still lying on the floor, her gaze somewhat unfocused. She immediately came over and knelt down on the carpet by her side, gently taking her hand in hers.

“My God, O’Brien, are you alright?”

There were wounds on the back of her hands, but they appeared to be superficial. Other than that she seemed perfectly unscathed.

“I’m fine,” she answered with a smile that set Cora’s heart at ease. “But maybe you should ask Mrs Crawley.”

“How can you just laugh it off?” Cousin Isobel retorted tartly. “We all nearly got crushed to death!”

 

“Don’t mind me,” Thomas muttered.

He was feeling sore all over, having not only kissed the dust for the second time in less than five minutes, but having also been whipped by several branches from the giant tree – after all, he was the one that had ended up being used as a protective cushion. Somehow it hurt even more that even under those circumstances nobody seemed to be paying him much attention... Or rather not the kind of attention he would have wished, he thought as his gaze suddenly met that of Downton Abbey’s dignified butler. Where Carson had silently appeared from, he did not know, but the look on his face told him in non-ambiguous terms that he had better get ready for the worse.

Gingerly, Thomas got to his feet.

“I’m terribly sorry about what has happened, Cousin Isobel,” Lady Grantham was saying as she helped Mrs Crawley up, while Lord Grantham stood uselessly about, looking a bit dazed.

“See, Cousin Robert, this whole setup is much too dangerous,” the woman called out to him as she bent down to pick up her hat from the floor. “It is a miracle that nobody got hurt.”

The words appeared to snap his Lordship out of his contemplation of the fallen tree and he swiftly moved from stupor to indignation.

“What in heaven’s name is going on here? Carson? I demand an explanation!”

“I am sorry, Milord, but I have no idea. I have only just arrived on the scene myself... Thomas?”

The butler uttered the name in a tone that could have burnt holes through steel.

It was in that moment, with four accusing pairs of eyes trained on him, that it finally dawned on Thomas that it was all over. He had failed, and they were about to be fired, both of them. He wished he could have blamed O’Brien. It was her beloved cat that had tripped him and it was her fault that he had been even here in the hall in the first place, trying to catch up with her – all in all, she had done nothing but cause him trouble all bloody afternoon– but he also knew that she would never have behaved that way if he hadn’t drugged her. He had stolen the cigarettes, he had talked her into smoking one, he was the one responsible.

A heavy silence settled in as they all awaited his answer. It was broken by the sound of Mrs Crawley’s steady voice.

“Will you tell them yourself or shall I?”

Thomas looked into her eyes and thought he saw a flicker of pity. She wasn’t being unkind on purpose, but still the result was the same. He swallowed painfully.

“I tripped and I grabbed hold of the rope and I don’t know why but it gave away. And the tree fell.”

“It really wasn’t secure,” Mrs Crawley insisted. “It couldn’t have been if a mere yank from this footman – Thomas, was it? – was enough to have it all crumble.”

“Still, that was an incredibly foolish thing to do,” Lord Grantham said. “You could have been seriously harmed, even killed. You. Or O’Brien. Or Mrs Crawley. And have you seen the chaos you’ve created? The tree is probably ruined, not to mention all of the ornaments. And the carpet! Have you even thought about how expensive that carpet is!?”

He had gradually been losing his temper and by the end of his diatribe, was pacing about like a caged tiger.

“What were you doing here in the first place? You... and _O’Brien_!” he suddenly snarled, wagging his finger at the lady’s maid. “What were the two of you up to?”

The earl turned once more toward his butler, but Carson merely shook his head.

“I cannot account for their presence in the great hall, Milord.”

By now, Thomas was convinced that the situation could not possibly get any worse. He was wrong. The situation did get worse and quite predictably it was because of O’Brien.

She had been remarkably quiet since the incident, simply listening to what was being said and looking thoroughly unmoved by the menacing glare Robert Crawley was giving her. One could easily have mistaken her for sober as long as they did not pay her too much attention, which was just what everyone had been doing until now, focused as they were on Thomas and Mrs Crawley.

However, there was simply no way Isobel Crawley could have ignored O’Brien as she leant toward her and whispered to her conspiratorially, but unfortunately still loud enough to be heard by everyone else in the room: “Tough luck that that middle-class snoop was there, eh. Always poking her nose where it doesn’t belong, that one.”

The woman was so shocked that she physically recoiled, looking at O’Brien like she had lost her mind.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Oops, sorry, I guess I mistook you for someone else.”

A whole minute went by as Mrs Crawley stared at her with eyes like saucers. Even Lord Grantham was momentarily left speechless. Then they were all startled by Lady Grantham’s furious voice.

“O’Brien! Is this your idea of a funny joke? What do you think you are doing?”

The whole situation roused some unpleasant echoes from the past... In her present state, O’Brien was nowhere near as guarded as she would normally be, and hurt and fear were plain on her face as she looked back at her mistress as though she didn’t really understand why she was being told off. She probably didn’t, actually, Thomas thought and felt a stab of compassion that surprised him.

Thankfully, they never got to hear whatever sharp words her Ladyship had in store for her since, as was her habit, Mrs Crawley had no qualms about interjecting. She was standing very close to Miss O’Brien, just like Thomas a few hours ago in the servants’ hall, and was gazing into her eyes attentively.

“Wait, Cora,” she said. “Something is wrong. This woman is definitely _not_ in her normal state.”

And just like that the game was up.

"What do you mean she is not in her normal state?" Lady Grantham asked, frowning.

“I’m not sure, but...”

O’Brien raised an eyebrow at Mrs Crawley as the latter grabbed her forearm, but didn’t protest as she rolled up her sleeve and pressed two fingers to the inside of her wrist.

“Her pupils are dilated... and her heart is beating too fast...”

She leant toward the lady’s maid until the tip of her nose almost touched her shoulder and sniffed at the dark cloth of her dress.

“And here it goes again,” O’Brien commented and rolled her eyes.

Mrs Crawley paid no heed whatsoever to the interruption.

“There is a strange smell on her. I think she is intoxicated.”

“What do you mean? Is she drunk?”

The countess was manifestly confused, as though she was unsure of whether she ought to be even angrier or rather worried.

“No. I can hardly believe it myself, but she appears to be suffering from a case of intoxication with... plants...”

There was no point trying to deny it all after that. If they had come this far, it was only a matter of time before they made the connection between Miss O’Brien’s condition and Dr Clarkson’s visit to an ill Lady Mary that very morning. Thomas told them part of the truth, twisting the facts in a desperate attempt to avoid getting the sack. Yes, he had taken cigarettes from Dr Clarkson and yes, he had offered one to the lady’s maid. But it was merely a regrettable accident... When he had found a couple cigarettes just lying there on the floor by the servants’ exit, he had simply thought it was either Miss O’Brien or himself who had dropped them. They were, after all, the only two smokers downstairs and virtually nothing distinguished those cigarettes on the outward from ordinary fags. And when O’Brien had started acting so strangely, Thomas had assumed that she was drunk and tried in vain to keep her out of trouble.

It was blindingly obvious from the scowl on Carson’s face that he didn’t believe for one second that Thomas had stolen in spite of himself, and both Mrs Crawley and his Lordship were sporting thoughtful expressions, but the one ray of hope came from Lady Grantham. Unlike the other three, she actually seemed chiefly concerned about O’Brien’s well-being. Was she going to be alright? Were there going to be any after-effects? So the poor woman really couldn’t be held accountable for any mischief she might have got up to, since deep down she had never meant to cause any trouble...

“That was really kind of you, Thomas, to watch out for her,” her Ladyship said. “She could have hurt herself if you hadn’t been there.”

He nodded gravely. There was a soft grunt from somewhere near his left shoulder and Thomas knew that Carson was biting his tongue to keep from overstepping his bounds. Obviously, the right thing to do in the butler’s vision would have been to report the trespassing Miss O’Brien immediately.

“What should we do, Milord?” he asked.

Lord Grantham hesitated a second too long, and his wife immediately jumped into the gap created by his indecision.

“Don’t you think it would be appropriate that we also hear O’Brien’s side of the story before making any decision, darling?”

“Why? She is clearly in no position to take part in a sensible discussion.”

Both he and Thomas glanced over at O’Brien, who seemed unaware that the entire conversation had been revolving around her. Her attention was on Lady Grantham and she was gazing at the countess with an expression that was both dreamy and content, not unlike that of a kid opening a present on Christmas Day. No, not like a kid. Thomas couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about it was making him queasy like no happy child could have...

“No, she isn’t now. But Cousin Isobel said it will be a matter of hours for the effects to dissipate. She will be fine in the morning, won’t she, Isobel?”

“I am almost positive she will, but I suggest we have Dr Clarkson confirm it... as well as explain himself about... some other things.”


	7. Close to the Wind

O’Brien had been brought back to her room, with Anna and Gwen taking turns guarding her to prevent her from wandering off again. Thomas was confined to his own while waiting for Robert and Cora’s decision. Cora didn’t know yet whether she would intercede in his favour. On the one hand, she was thankful to him for trying his best to keep her lady’s maid from harm; on the other hand, he was the one who wreaked havoc on their Christmas preparations, turning Downton Abbey’s grand hall into a disaster zone and nearly squashing the mother to the heir. It really was a nasty dilemma.

But there was one thing Cora knew – her maid was actually a victim, drugged without her knowing, and she would not stand by and watch Robert use the opportunity to get rid of her. Tomorrow, she would have a talk with O’Brien in order to lift the veil on the circumstances surrounding the discovery – or possibly the theft – of Dr Clarkson’s cigarettes and the result would determine Thomas’s fate.

Dr Clarkson had come and gone and right before Isobel had nearly dragged him into the small library for a private talk, he had told Mrs Hughes and Cora that it was better to have someone watch over O’Brien, not only to keep her from doing anything stupid, but also because there was a possibility that she might get sick. And against her principles, Cora had found herself doing something she had never done before – she had gone up into the servants’ quarters after dinner in order to pay her maid a visit.

Past the first moment of surprise, Anna had been rather happy when Cora had suggested she could have a moment’s break while she was here, confiding without much prompting and with thinly-veiled lassitude that she absolutely must help Gwen tidy up their room, since Miss O’Brien had apparently felt it necessary to turn it upside down at some point during the afternoon.

Cora bit her lip to hide a smile, mentally chastising herself for finding the idea of her maid shamelessly rummaging about in poor Anna’s things vaguely amusing. She suddenly found herself uncharacteristically nervous as the housemaid went away and she was left alone standing at the threshold to O’Brien’s room. The woman was lying on her bed, fully-clothed, and was currently staring up at the ceiling with an unreadable expression.

Cora suddenly wondered if she was being disrespectful by entering O’Brien’s only sanctuary from her hectic life... from Cora herself. Then her maid looked down and saw her. She smiled like the sun, and Cora momentarily cast her doubts aside.

“Are you a dream?” O’Brien asked.

Cora was a little taken aback. She had nearly forgotten that O’Brien was still under the influence of the drug she had smoked.

“No, I am very much real.”

She walked in and went to sit on the chair at O’Brien’s bedside, smiling at her benignly, making sure that the maid could see that she was no longer angry. She did feel slightly guilty for yelling at her earlier.

“Oh... That’s a shame. I really hoped you were my dream coming true... Well, like they say, that’s the way it is. You’ll have to do, I guess.”

There was no sense to be found in the woman’s ramblings, Cora knew it perfectly well, and still she couldn’t help but feel hurt by her maid’s disenchanted reaction. O’Brien was supposed to be fond of her, not to wish for her to be a mere illusion she could wave off at will...

“Sorry if am a disappointment,” she murmured, more to herself than to the other woman, but O’Brien nevertheless heard her.

“Oh no, Milady! I didn’t mean it that way,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion in a manner Cora had never heard before. “Please don’t be sad. You know I hate it when you’re sad.”

This was undoubtedly the strangest, most obscure exchange Cora had ever had with O’Brien, or with anyone else for that matter. And witnessing her seemingly trying to trample as many rules governing proper interaction between a lady and her maid as possible in a single conversation certainly did not help.

However, it wasn’t the total lack of decorum that disturbed Cora the most – Violet would likely have blamed it on her American blood... Rather, for some reason she couldn’t help but feel from the bottom of her heart that O’Brien’s words must have a meaning, and she desperately wanted to uncover it. Her maid was trying to tell her something important and she needed to know what it was.

“What is your dream?” she asked, but the other woman shook her head.

“That’s the thing. That’s something I can only ever say to the dream you.”

For a second, Cora felt a bitter taste in her mouth, like she had failed to achieve something, but she was distracted when O’Brien suddenly sat up and, with swift but clumsy gestures, started to pull pins out of her now not-quite-so-immaculate bun.

“It’s too bloody uncomfortable,” she muttered.

Cora could barely look away from the brown wavy locks that cascaded down her maid’s back as she shook her head from side to side. She had never quite suspected that O’Brien’s hair could actually be so long when it was piled up in its usual rigid manner.

The thought had her squirm slightly – how utterly inappropriate for a woman of her rank to see a servant with her hair down like that. Cora felt like she was peeping at something she had no right to see, something that O’Brien would normally not have permitted her to see. It was even worse knowing that the woman was about to go to sleep without the obligatory braid.

Under normal circumstances Cora’s obvious discomfort would hardly have escaped her maid’s keen eye, but tonight O’Brien appeared to be completely oblivious. Judging from the way she was frowning, undoing her hair had not helped making her comfortable, and she seemed fairly agitated all of a sudden, twisting her bandaged hands in a way Cora was convinced must have been painful.

“Are you going to dismiss me, Milady?” she asked without preamble.

Cora stared back into her maid’s pleading eyes, wondering if she had brutally and unexpectedly come back to her senses.

“I’m not,” she replied in all honesty. “But we will discuss everything in more detail tomorrow, once you are feeling better.”

She had meant to be reassuring, but the anguished look on O’Brien’s face told her that her answer must not have been persuasive enough. And Cora didn’t want to scare her needlessly, not when she was in such a fragile state, and all because of another’s carelessness...

“I promise,” she added.

She smiled softly and reached out for her maid’s hands, covering them with hers with as much gentleness as she could manage and effectively putting an end to her fidgeting.

“Thank you...”

By then, Cora was ready to believe that the effects of the drug had finally dissipated and was already relishing the idea of being back in charted territory. O’Brien’s next move told her that they actually hadn’t, not in the slightest.

“Goodnight, Milady,” she said, and without further ado she drew closer, bringing her head near Cora’s and planting a single kiss on her cheek. Then she simply slipped her hands out of the astonished countess’s hold and sank back down onto her mattress, curling on her side and closing her eyes.

For a few seconds Cora remained rooted to the spot. Then she let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she had been holding. Gingerly, she raised a finger to her face, absently stroking the spot where her maid’s lips had touched her. Cora knew it was a ludicrous thought to have, but when O’Brien had come so very close to her and she had felt her breath on her skin, for a second she could have sworn that she was aiming for her mouth. Cora wondered – out of pure curiosity, of course – what it would have felt like to have the other woman’s lips on her own. She knew that there existed some women who kissed other women, but she had never been one of those scandalous creatures. She had always been a good girl and good girls kissed their husbands.

She allowed herself to imagine it for just a second… Her lips would be soft, as Cora already knew from the pleasant sensation on her still tingling cheek, and she would be true to herself, tender and gentle, treating Cora like she was made of glass. Like she was dear and precious, and worthy of adoration. But Cora wouldn’t settle for mere gentleness, and she would deepen the kiss somewhat forcefully, showing her that she was stronger than she looked. O’Brien would let Cora slide her fingers through her long silky locks and then she would give in and wrap her arms around her mistress, pulling her flush against her body with the same eagerness, with the same passion Cora would be feeling. The skin of her arms, of her neck, of her bare stomach would be like velvet under Cora’s hands, and her breasts would be just as soft as the rest of her. And how Cora would love it, the exquisite contrast between the slightly callused hands that brushed against her every day and the smooth expanse of skin hidden underneath the black dress, between the impossible softness of her maid’s curves and the urgency of their embrace.

Cora brutally snapped out of her thoughts, blinking and shaking her head in alarm, horrified at the direction in which she had allowed her mind to wander. O’Brien wasn’t in her normal state, she was intoxicated by the strange plants in that cigarette, and in that drug-induced state, she had ended up taking her devotion one step too far. And – thank God – that was all there was to it. A kiss, a mere kiss on the cheek, not unlike the ones Cora exchanged with her daughters… No, it certainly was nothing to fret about. After all, it was not like O’Brien had tried to do any of the outrageous things Cora’s perverted mind had been so vividly picturing. Her cheeks were flushed, though she couldn’t have said if it was from the burning shame or from the strange feelings that had been awakened in her and that were making her heart race.

What O’Brien had done was out of bounds, Cora thought to distract herself, even more so than badmouthing a family member or ransacking a fellow servant’s room. For both of their sake, it would be best to avoid the subject altogether in the future. In truth, it would even be better if O’Brien remembered nothing of today’s insane events. After all, Cora only ever needed her to recall exactly what happened _before_ the drug had taken effect.

For some unexplainable reason, Cora suddenly felt sad and tired, so much so indeed that she had to take a moment to compose herself before she left the room, throwing one last look at the peaceful face of her sleeping maid.


	8. The Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Christmas!

Although Miss O’Brien’s room was just a few feet away from his, Thomas would have to wait until morning before he could talk to her. He slept fitfully that night, tossing and turning in his bed restlessly as he dreamt of his inevitable demise. His last hope was that O’Brien would back up his lies in front of Lady Grantham the next day, but the chances of her being willing to cover for him were slim to none...

He never had the opportunity to talk to O’Brien in the end. He waited for her on the landing to the attic only to learn from Anna that she had woken up early and was in the middle of a serious discussion with Mrs Hughes. The maid gave him a tiny smile, which made him feel even worse. She pitied him, meaning that she thought him doomed already.

The look on O’Brien face when she slipped in the seat across from Thomas at breakfast told him it would have been a waste of time anyway. It didn’t matter whether she had remembered what had happened upon waking up, or whether the ever-considerate Anna had imparted the news to her in the quiet of her bedroom before she went down– she was simmering with unspoken rage, and Thomas, as the responsible party, would be on the receiving end of that rage. Hell, had he actually been innocent, O’Brien might have cooked up some incriminating, well-crafted story out of spite...

Thomas already knew how this would end. He didn’t understand how O’Brien had managed it, but she somehow had Lady Grantham wrapped around her little finger. She could turn the countess against her husband’s valet in the twinkling of an eye; she could criticize the new heir to Downton Abbey and walk away with nothing more than a rap on the knuckles; and she could insult his Lordship’s cousin to her face and end up with her Ladyship fretting over her like she was some kind of birdie fallen from the nest. A mere conversation with the countess would be all it would take for O’Brien to get off scot-free and for Thomas to pack his suitcases.

There was a distinctly awkward atmosphere in Lady Grantham’s room that morning...

Cora had instructed Mrs Hughes to have O’Brien bring up her breakfast as usual – provided that she had completely recovered, of course – and she was genuinely happy albeit slightly nervous when her maid answered the summons without fail, impeccably dressed as ever and without a hair out of place.

Cora thanked her as she carefully placed the tray over her lap and attempted a smile when she saw O’Brien steal a furtive, tentative glance at her face.

“I have no intention of dismissing you”, she said, answering her maid’s unspoken question. “I am glad that we can go back to normal.”

O’Brien took a deep breath.  

“Thank you, Milady,” she said gravely. “I humbly apologise for all the trouble that I have caused you and his Lordship.”

Her face was as composed as ever, but her eyes, which according to the rules should have been respectfully trained on her mistress, were lowered, betraying her embarrassment. Cora, who was about to remind her maid that she would not show the same leniency if she were to be disrespectful to the Crawleys again in future, relented and gave up the thought entirely. Poor O’Brien... In her own reserved manner, Cora thought, she looked as though she wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole.    

Cora wished she could have left it at that and let her heal her wounded pride in peace, but they simply must discuss the events of the previous day in more details, if only to verify Thomas’s story and clear the whole matter for good.

“I know that you were not acting of your own volition, O’Brien, and his Lordship and I won’t be holding any of your... actions against you.”

O’Brien roused herself from her contemplation of the pattern on Cora’s bed-sheets and, for the first time, looked her straight in the eye. Memories crawled unbidden into Cora’s mind. For a second, the nervous flutter in her stomach blossomed into full-blown fear. If O’Brien remembered about that one thing... If she ever as much as mentioned it, even to apologize, then Cora’s treacherous face would surely betray her, displaying her sinful feelings for the whole world to see, starting with the woman standing right before her...

But O’Brien wouldn’t, answered the rational part of her mind. If she did remember, then she must also know that she had been sailing as perilously close to the wind as never before, and that nothing good would come out of pointing it out to her mistress. No, she would never dare talk about the previous night without Cora broaching the topic first, and it just happened to be the very last thing she would do, meaning that Cora was completely safe.

She dismissed the curious tightening in her chest and took a big swallow of her tea, burning her tongue. At least it was a welcome distraction... O’Brien looked mildly concerned when she saw her wince in pain, but Cora shook her head dismissively.

“It’s nothing. Now, let us talk about Thomas...”

 

**Epilogue**

Thomas stood in the yard, staring at the ground gloomily and taking long drags from his cigarette when O’Brien came out to join him.

“It was all your fault, you know,” she said as way of greeting as she walked up behind him.

Thomas turned around to face her and couldn’t help but flinch as she raised a hand toward his face. For a mad second, he thought that O’Brien was going to strike him, then she snatched the fag from his lips and brought it to hers.

“You big noodle.”

He stared at her wordlessly, unsure of what to make of her attitude. It wasn’t often that Sarah O’Brien – or anyone else for that matter – surprised Thomas, but this was a far cry from what he had been expecting. She certainly was grouchy, that was plain to see, but her eyes held none of the cold loathing that Thomas had learnt to recognize over the years, a look he knew she saved for Bates. If anything, she looked a lot more like she did when she complained about Lady G harping on about silly nonsense all day long. Only grouchier.

“Ended up looking like a complete fool in front of everyone – in front of her Ladyship,” O’Brien muttered, puffing on his cigarette like a steam engine. “All because you can’t be bothered to keep your hands off things that aren’t yours.”

She glowered at him, looking for the world like a schoolmarm disciplining a particularly slow child. For a second, Thomas was tempted to point out that, firstly, no one had forced her to accept stolen items from him and, secondly, she was hardly in a position to criticize, having just pinched from him. He thought better of it. Not only would he be acting in bad faith – that he could live with – but he had a feeling that she might not stand for arrogance at this particular time, and he certainly did not want to ruffle her feathers. Well not any more than he already had, at any rate...

“Well, are you going to ask or you just going to keep gawking at me all day like an idiot?”

Thomas did keep on studying her for a few more seconds. Was this a trap? Was she waiting for him to lower his guard in order to better crush him? Still he couldn’t help but hope, just like he had from the moment she had started lecturing him like she always did, slipping back effortlessly into their same old patterns...

“Have you been to see her?”

“I have, and I’ve saved your thieving lying skin too.”

For a second, he almost didn’t dare believe it, then relief washed over him, so powerful that he was glad he was leaning against a wall, lest Miss O’Brien saw him staggering. Against all odds, she had forgiven him and she had rescued him, standing up for him like she had many times over the years. In that moment, Thomas could almost have kissed her. Almost.

“Did you have a rough time?”

She sighed in annoyance.

“What do you think? I had to sing your bloody merits to her Majesty for over half an hour. I swear if I’d said any more lies, my tongue might’ve fallen off...”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll be expecting a favour in return.”

“But of course, Miss O’Brien,” Thomas said, grinning at her with some of his usual cheek.

She didn’t smile back.

“One last thing. I nearly lost my job yesterday because of your silliness. I put it on the line again today persuading her Ladyship to let you keep yours. I swear to God – if you _ever_ make me look bad in front of her again, I’ll make you pay for it. Mark my words.”

There was a strange gleam in her eyes all of a sudden and Thomas felt a shiver run down his spine. It wasn’t the first time that Miss O’Brien threatened him. She had made it a habit to blame him – rightly or not – whenever they played with fire, and he had made it a habit to brush her threats off, knowing that in the end, both of them invariably wriggled their way out of trouble somehow. It wasn’t the first time that she took risks for his sake either and ended up saving his neck. However, it was the first time that she, Sarah O’Brien, lady’s maid to the Countess of Grantham, had been caught out because of one of his schemes gone awry...

Then the strange glint vanished from her eyes, so fast that Thomas thought he must have imagined it. O’Brien looked away, her face as unreadable as ever.

“Needless to say,” she said wryly, “that there is only so much her Ladyship can do...The price for all of his Lordship’s Christmas gimcrackery is coming off your wages... for the next 223 years.” 


End file.
